


emerald is the wolf with three faces

by suheafoams



Series: coral knuckles universe [3]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: 17k of chan risking it all lmao, Alternate Universe - College/University, Biting, Dirty Talk, Jealousy, M/M, Mirror Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pining, bad boy woojin, chan goes a little off the rails and woojin's like "that's fine", student president chan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-08-16 04:24:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20195044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suheafoams/pseuds/suheafoams
Summary: One of the guys leans over to whisper something into Woojin’s ear, dancer limbs long and elegant as he drapes them all over Woojin, the openness of his half buttoned, silk shirt revealing a slice of tanned torso. Chan recognizes him as Sicheng, a Chinese student from the science department and one of Woojin’s closer friends.He shouldn’t have looked a second time, because Jihyo is already watching him carefully by the time he remembers to stop staring. “I’ve known you for years, and you’ve never looked like that,” Jihyo says.Chan cracks his knuckles reflexively. “Like what?” he asks.“Like someone who hates sharing,” she says, and it’s so close to the truth that Chan can feel his whole body tense up.





	emerald is the wolf with three faces

**Author's Note:**

> hi again. 
> 
> what kind of dumbass writer writes 17k for events occurring over ONE night? me. im the dumbass. this was supposed to be short and sweet. instead it is a monster, and i hope you are all happy at what you've turned me into.
> 
> this occurs sometime between brown sugar eyes in retrospect and coral knuckles, so the overall timeline so far is this: 
> 
> part 2, part 3, part 1 (lmao nonlinear narratives are my PASSION)  
brown sugar > emerald is > coral knuckles 
> 
> the whole time i was writing this fic my face was like O_O so y'all better take responsibility for turning me from a wholesome long fic writer into a smut writer 
> 
> hope you enjoy! read this series from part 1-part 3 or in whatever order you want cause no one listens to me anyways LMAO

“How long have you been seeing him?” 

Chan’s attention snaps to the voice coming from his near left, red slowly fading from his vision. “Seeing who?” 

With a jut of her chin, Jihyo points at where Woojin’s sitting with a group of guys on the other side of the bar, some of whom Chan recognizes from their university, other faces less familiar to him. “Mr. Dark and Handsome. Who else?” 

Chan’s irritation must be showing through. He closes his eyes, and by the time they’re open again he’s managed to paste a patient, unassuming smile on his face. “What are you—” 

“The clueless puppy look you use on everyone else won’t work on me, Christopher~” Jihyo says, all sing-song like. Her crystal earrings sparkle gracefully as she tilts her head in amusement at him. “Your boyfriend seems popular. Does that worry you?”

Chan’s face hardens. “He’s not my boyfriend,” he says. “You’ve got the wrong idea.” 

Jihyo just smiles at him. “Really?” 

One of the guys leans over to whisper something into Woojin’s ear, dancer limbs long and elegant as he drapes them all over Woojin, the openness of his half buttoned, silk shirt revealing a slice of tanned torso. Chan recognizes him as Sicheng, a Chinese student from the science department and one of Woojin’s closer friends. Sicheng isn’t usually this well dressed, always bundled up in puffy sweats and casual streetwear the few times Chan has seen him walking around on campus. He doesn’t know how close Sicheng is to Woojin, and he’s never gathered the courage to ask because it seems unfitting for the ambiguous relationship he has with Woojin. 

He shouldn’t have looked a second time, because Jihyo is already watching him carefully by the time he remembers to stop staring, on the verge of breaking through Chan’s code of evasively agreeable facial expressions. 

“I’ve known you for years, and you’ve never looked like that,” Jihyo says. 

Chan cracks his knuckles reflexively. “Like what?” he asks. 

“Like someone who hates sharing,” she says, and it’s so close to the truth that Chan can feel his whole body tense up. 

Chan is plenty good at sharing. He leaves Woojin alone for most of the week and doesn't ask who Woojin comes into contact with six days of the week, but Fridays are theirs and theirs _ only _ because it’s the one free day that works for both of them. 

So it’s not particularly unreasonable that Chan had been soured to receive a text from Woojin asking for a rain check on their usual Friday hangout. _ I have friends in town who won’t be available sat or sun_, Woojin had explained, and Chan had refused to lose his temper. Instead, he’d chosen to ignore the text as if he’d never read it, flip his phone screen down, and make himself a cup of jasmine tea to soothe his irritation. 

Half an hour later, Woojin had sent a sticker of a cat crying when he realized Chan’s silence was stretching uncomfortably long, because Chan never ignored texts and would have only done so to express his displeasure. _ I’ll make it up to you?? If u want, _ is the third message Woojin sends in a row, and Chan’s offended that the question marks are even there, like Woojin thinks Chan might _ not _ want compensation for having to spend the evening alone, without Woojin.

In response, Chan’d sent back a curt _ that’s fine, _calmly placing his phone on the table before he did something reckless like chuck it against his living room wall. After all, it wasn’t his phone’s fault that Woojin was abandoning him on the one day he’d been looking forward to all week, and Woojin, who only texted regularly when he was feeling particularly spiteful, had cared enough about Chan’s hurt feelings to follow up twice. 

Chan unfurrows his brows at that thought, because he’s over it, or at the very least has decided he’s going to act like he is. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you know exactly what I’m talking about, Chan,” Jihyo says. “I’m not as people-savvy as you but I’m smart enough to notice your sudden fixation on the art department when you’ve always been equally indifferent to all of the programs.”

“That’s not true,” Chan says, but Jihyo continues to talk over his protests. 

“It became even clearer when I realized who all those hot drinks were for,” she says. She’d caught him a few times with extra drinks in his hands when there were no student government meetings to go on coffee runs for, in higher spirits than usual. “And that you were going out of your way to get the attention of the school’s most aggressive fighter, only to flirt with him.” 

“Not flirting. I’m helping him quit smoking,” Chan says, despite the fact that Woojin has only smoked twice ever since Chan took over management of his lighter, but it’s an excuse Chan can still clutch at for the sake of appearances. 

“Are you helping him with _ other _things, too?” Jihyo asks, with a suggestive eyebrow twitch. She’s glued large iridescent pieces of star-shaped glitter along her lower eyelids, and they shift colors under the light every time she moves her head. If Chan hadn’t conditioned himself to be so polite, he’d consider ripping them off of her skin just to see her squeal in pain.

“What are you trying to imply, Jihyo?” he asks, holding a faux-scandalized hand to his chest as he takes a slow lick at the side of his glass, the metal of his tongue piercing making a small but distinct _ clink _ at the contact. The angle of it makes it so that she’s the only witness to the display of obscenity, and she rolls her eyes. 

_ That you’re not as nice or pure as you look, _ he expects her to say, like so many other people have said when they see a glimpse of Chan’s true nature. _ That you’re a monster underneath all those manners. _

Instead, Jihyo says, “That it’s fine for you to like him without piling a million excuses on top of it,” and Chan only blinks at her in surprise, having expected an avalanche of a statement and receiving only a small pebble of unexpected mercy instead. 

“Not denying it?” she asks. 

“I don’t have anything to deny,” Chan says, when he recovers from the half beat Jihyo’s set him behind with her unpredictability. “I just thought you were going to say something mean.” 

“That’s _ your _ specialty, right after your kink for pissing people off with that fake smile of yours,” Jihyo says. “Meanwhile, I’m showing real concern for you and your not-crush on your not-boyfriend Woojin.” 

“That’s a waste of your energy,” Chan says. He doesn't need anyone to worry about him because he can take care of himself just fine. “Whatever gave you the notion that I like him?” 

“I don’t know.” Jihyo’s acrylic nails tap against the tabletop impatiently. Although it doesn’t always show in her schoolwork, she’s uncannily smart, and she’ll stop at nothing to get the information she needs if she really wants it. “For one, the fact that you were looking at his hot friend like you were going to kill him. Not to mention all the little gifts you send him and the weird vibes you two get whenever you’re within three hundred feet of each other—” 

“You’re overthinking things,” Chan says, discomfort filling his chest like sticky, black goo and oozing into the airways to his lungs. He should be more careful when it comes to interacting with Woojin in public. 

“Am not,” Jihyo says, crossing her arms across her chest. “You’re just withholding information.”

It’s in everyone’s interest, Chan thinks, for him to keep the inner workings of his mind to himself. “What do you want me to say?” Chan says. He rotates the bracelet on his wrist absentmindedly, pushing at one bead until it’s too far spun back for him to use as momentum any longer before he switches to a different bead. “I’ll play along with your imagination if it’ll make you happy.” 

“Happy my ass,” Jihyo says. “Do you really think you can hide what you’re thinking as long as you keep deflecting my questions?”

“Yes,” Chan says. “It works on everyone else, so you should let it work on you, too.”

“People don’t fight you on your weird methods of diversion because they don’t care enough, but I do,” Jihyo says. “Whether you like it or not.” 

Chan just looks at her, and sighs. 

Because as sneaky and meddlesome Jihyo is about business that’s got nothing to do with her, there’s not a single malicious bone in her body. She guards people’s secrets better than she guards her own and fights to the metaphorical death for people who have been wronged, which is probably why, despite her flaws, there are so many more people who like her over Chan. 

“Thanks for the concern,” Chan says, “but it’s not like I struggle with understanding my emotions. It’s just that I find them pointless because they get in the way of everything else I could be accomplishing.” 

“Emotions are not pointless.” Jihyo surveys his face for a few seconds. “How else do you think we get music? Or good literature? Or great artists?” 

Chan is well aware of all that _ emotions _ have to offer, and even more knowledgeable about just how dangerous they are. 

He loves falling in love when it’s with media, whether it’s the meticulously cut visuals of an indie film, a particularly good arrangement of words in a sentence of a novel, or the lyrics to a song that temporarily free him from his high self standards that sometimes threaten to suffocate him. 

But he doesn’t get attached to people, because seeking emotional fulfillment from a soul he can’t expect to control is like trying to keep water from slipping out the cracks between his fingers. He hates that he’s gotten in the habit of looking forward to Woojin’s smile, and hates that he jerks himself off now more because of desire than boredom, mind flooded with memories of Woojin’s large hands and thick neck instead of the usual blackness his brain used to drown itself in. 

Jihyo probably hears the gears screeching in Chan’s head as the reality of his emotions processes, and she continues with, “So you and Woojin aren’t a thing? Because emotions are a Bother for you.” 

“We’re not a thing, or anything at all,” Chan says. Maybe that’s what’s causing the itch under his skin, the fact that he doesn’t know if Woojin would even refer to him as a friend to other people, that there’s no acceptable, distinct word to describe the connection between them outside of closed doors. 

“Do you want to be?” 

Chan makes an ambiguous noise in the back of his throat. The bass of whatever pop song currently playing is giving him a headache that reaches all the way to the back of his neck, and he’s better off letting Jihyo take the conversation where she wants it before she weasels the truth out of him in worse ways. “Does it matter?” 

“Yes. The only two emotions Mr. Shiny Bang Chan-a-tron ever shows is one: diluted amusement, and two: diluted irritation,” Jihyo says. “So of course I’d be interested in hearing about a guy who manages to make you act a little more human.”

Terrible. Chan wishes he was actually a robot, programmed to react perfectly in every situation and process emotions like logarithms instead of claws digging into his fragile heart. “There’s nothing interesting to tell,” he says. 

“Wrong,” Jihyo says. She swirls what liquid is remaining in her glass. “There’s definitely _ something_. You look like someone took away your favorite toy, and you hardly ever care about anything beyond your duties as student president or your academics.” 

Chan stopped playing with toys long before he even stopped being a child, so he can’t recall with certainty the feeling Jihyo is referring to. There’s no taste to his drink, though, which is probably similar enough because he knows it has to do with the fact that Woojin isn’t paying any attention to him. 

Chan has never simultaneously wanted to pull anyone close _ and _ push them far the way he does with Woojin, because Woojin makes Chan expose sides of himself he’d never thought would bubble to the surface of his persona. “He understands me,” Chan confesses, and then regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth because they feel more revealing and more intimate than any movie grade level declaration of affection he could offer. 

Jihyo purses her lips thoughtfully. “Wow,” she says. “I was going to tease you, but you look genuinely distressed about the fact that you’re feeling positive emotions about another human being.” She flips her hair over her shoulder before leaning forward to rest her elbows on the table, careful not to dirty her sleeves. “So I’ll let you confide in me. With zero judgement.” 

If three simple words already make Chan feel like dying, there’s no way he’s going to be lured into sharing more than he wants to even if he knows how genuine Jihyo is being. 

Chan never discusses his feelings in depth or at length, especially not if they involve another person, and he wants to keep what little he possesses of Woojin a secret. Not because he’s ashamed, but because he’s selfish and he’s too used to the feeling of wrapping up his more ugly, unpolished feelings so that people will have nothing to focus on besides the impeccable version of himself he presents to them. Plus, leaving other people in the dark about what he’s really feeling makes it easier for him to pretend he’s in the dark too, unaware of the tightening in his chest every time he looks over at Woojin and Woojin isn’t looking back. 

_ Stop caring_, Chan thinks to himself, wishing he could peel himself open just to smash all the unwanted emotions inside of him to smithereens. 

“Nobody wants to confide in you,” he says, just to be petty, because he thinks he sees Jihyo’s boyfriend arriving at the crowded doorway of the bar, and this means he no longer has to be nice to her when Daniel will soon take up the task. “You’re a great vice president but a shit listener.” 

“You take that back, Chan,” Jihyo says. 

“Me taking it back doesn’t take away the truth,” Chan retorts, and he ducks out of reach just as Jihyo prepares to dig her fresh set of nails into his arm. She’s about to say something just as snide back after her missed swat at him, but she swallows it all down when Daniel reaches their table. 

“Hey!” Daniel says, as he sits down next to Jihyo, arranging his legs so that he doesn’t knock into anything. His shoulder touches Jihyo’s, and she smiles at him. “What did I miss?”

“You came just in time,” Chan says, pretending to be relieved. “I was afraid that Jihyo was going to talk my ears off.” 

Daniel’s laugh is easy going, good natured. “Really? About what?”

“Nothing of substance, but I’m sure you’re used to that with how much time you spend with her,” Chan says, and Jihyo smacks him in the arm. 

“Shut up,” she says. 

“But now she’ll be talking _ your _ ears off,” Chan says. “Thank god.” 

“I don’t mind,” Daniel says, because he sees nothing but roses and sunshine in Jihyo and would probably sell his soul for her if she so much as fluttered her long, wispy eyelashes at him. 

From the few times he’s talked with the basketball team captain, Chan has learned two things about Daniel in conversation: one, that Daniel is incredibly giggly and two, he’s a complete pacifist outside of the basketball court. He prefers to smile his way through conversations rather than use words, and is almost always agreeable unless someone is an outright bigot. Between him and Jihyo, Jihyo is the noisy one, chattering constantly about her classes and club activities and dramas she’s watching while Daniel just coos at how adorable she is. 

Chan watches the two of them from above the rim of his glass while Daniel kisses Jihyo on the cheek and compliments the extra touches she’d put on her makeup tonight. She brightens significantly, and goes off on a tangent about the new lash glue she’s trying out for long nights out, based on a recommendation from a makeup artist she watches on Youtube. 

They’re society’s textbook example of a perfect couple, but even if Chan searches for it, there’s no part of him that feels jealous of what they have. No matter how well Chan plays the role of a conventional good boy, he’ll never match it on the inside because what he wants isn’t a girl with silky hair who blushes every time she looks at him, but a boy with fire in his eyes and claws sharp and strong enough to rip out Chan’s heart in one strike. 

“Want a drink?” Jihyo asks Daniel. 

“I won’t be drinking today,” Daniel says. “Early practice tomorrow, plus I drove here.”

“Mmm,” Jihyo says, before remembering that Chan is still sitting with them. “Babe, do you want to hear about Chan’s secret crush?” 

“I’d start digging your grave right about now,” Chan says lowly, which makes Jihyo squeak in fear. “Since you’re going to need one soon.” 

“Daniel, Chan is threatening me and I’m scared,” Jihyo says. 

“Don’t expose people’s secrets then!” Daniel replies, before turning to Chan to chastise him, too. “You shouldn’t joke like that, Chan. Violence isn’t the answer.” 

“I will reflect on my behavior,” Chan says with his eyebrows raised comically, and Jihyo glares at him because she knows he’s about to pay absolutely zero heed to Daniel’s earnestness. 

“Though,” Daniel says, eyes shining as he considers Jihyo’s words, “I didn’t think you’d be the type of person to like anyone, Chan!” 

“I’m irrationally heartless and soulless, is what you’re trying to say,” Chan says, deadpan, and Daniel’s face pales at the misconstruing of his innocent statement. “That’s what my horoscope app says about me, too.” 

“No, no, that’s not at all what I mean, Chan! You’re a great guy!” Daniel says, panicking further when Chan nods slowly at him, like it’s too late for Daniel to backtrack to a point where he’s not hurting Chan’s feelings. “It just seems like you’d have impossibly high standards, or something, since you’re so high achieving.” 

Well, Daniel’s not that far off. Chan’s taste in men has left him to thirst out in the heat, not because he thinks too highly of himself, but because the man he wants defies all standards human, with a one in a million personality and an aversion to being tied down by commitment. 

“Don’t flatter him,” Jihyo says conspiratorially. “Chan’s head is big enough as it is.” 

“Your head is bigger than mine, both physically and ego-wise,” Chan hisses, and she simply sticks her tongue out at him. 

“So who’s the lucky person?” Daniel says, and Chan doesn’t miss the way he uses _person _ instead of _ girl_. For someone who doesn’t take charge much during conversations, Daniel pays attention to details other people would easily overlook. 

That doesn’t mean Chan’s going to open up to him, or anything. Daniel probably has enough to take care of just dealing with Jihyo’s nonsense. 

“No one,” Chan says. “I don’t have a heart, just like you suspected.” 

“That’s _ definitely _not what I meant,” Daniel wails. “Please don’t misunderstand me, Chan.” 

“I’m joking,” Chan replies, before Daniel goes all puppy-eyed on him and begs for forgiveness. 

“Chan,” Jihyo says.

“_What._” Chan shouldn’t have come out tonight. He wouldn’t have, if he’d known beforehand that he’d be dealing with two bumbling idiots and not just one, all while having to watch Woojin spend time with people other than him. On a Friday. 

“He’s looking at you,” Jihyo says, and Chan’s eyes, the traitors, drift straight past her to the table he’s been ignoring to the best of his ability until now. 

Woojin _is _ watching him, with a mask of vacancy on his face that hides what he’s really thinking on the inside. He’s learning from Chan, in that sense, but Chan isn’t so sure he’s happy about that if it means he can’t read Woojin’s temper at a glance like he used to. 

“Is that the guy?” Daniel asks, craning his neck to get a closer look at who Jihyo’s discreetly pointing at, and before Chan can even worry about whether Daniel’s worth trusting, he simply adds, “He’s cute, Chan.” 

“No,” Chan says, flushing uncomfortably as he looks away from Woojin, grateful for the dim lighting that hides how red his skin gets when he’s embarrassed. “It’s not like that.” 

“But it is,” Jihyo says. 

“Stick your nose in someone else’s business before I jam it into your shot glass,” Chan says.

“Wow,” Daniel says, too shocked to even come to Jihyo’s rescue. 

“Please restrain your busybody of a girlfriend,” Chan says, deceivingly sweet in tone, and Daniel just gapes back at him. “Now if you’ll excuse me.” 

“Where are you going?” Jihyo asks, while Chan hops off of his stool. 

“Somewhere far away from the both of you,” Chan replies, and does his best not to react to the knowing look Jihyo gives him. “Why? Are you going to miss me?” 

“Very much,” Jihyo says, like there’s pins all over her tongue. Chan just sneers at her, about to turn and leave when she calls out to him again. “Wait. Before you go.” 

“What?” Chan asks. 

Jihyo swipes a hand across her collarbones and shoulders, picking up flecks of her body shimmer lotion to transfer to Chan’s neck and jawline before he can move back to avoid it. It’s still a little tacky even though she’s had it on for hours, and Chan squirms as she tries to get any missed spots, his shock having morphed into resigned acceptance by the time she’s finished and gives him a final stripe of glitter at his temple. 

“Now you’re hot and glowy,” she says cheekily, and Chan gives her a long suffering smile back. “And no one turns down a cute, glittery boy.” 

Woojin has noticed the exchange between Chan and Jihyo, and there’s a hint of a smirk in his otherwise blank reaction before he turns his back to Chan and returns to the conversation with his friends. 

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Chan says, brushing at his face with his hand and coming away with shimmery fingertips. 

“That’s exactly how it works,” Jihyo says. “How did you think I got Daniel to date me? With glitter, of course, because boys are easily tricked by shiny things.” 

“Jihyo, _no_,” Daniel says, laughing, and she makes a shushing noise at him, as if him playing along will help her convince Chan that she’s right. 

With light motions, Jihyo pats down the concealer under Chan’s eyes to smooth out the coverage, finishing her grooming with a cursory drag of fingers through the parts of his hair that aren’t tied back into a ponytail. “Go, go,” she says, pushing him forward. 

“Thank you,” Chan says. “Now I will be extra handsome when I go to the restroom.” 

“You can’t be serious,” Jihyo says, and Chan winks at her before he finally makes his way over to Woojin’s table, knowing Jihyo’s probably glaring daggers into his back for nearly tricking her into believing her efforts had gone to waste. 

The knot in his stomach untangles the same time a new one forms, because he’s good at new people but he’s not so sure he’s good at _ Woojin_, and the latter is significantly more important because he really doesn’t care what anyone else besides Woojin thinks, and Woojin’s affirmation is all that he wants. 

“Hey,” he says, when he’s close enough that it’s inevitable Woojin will hear him.

Woojin is wearing a dress shirt in a deep sapphire blue, a rare sight considering most of his going-out clothes rely on variety in texture more than color since they’re all black. Chan has an urge to pop all the buttons off and go for what he really wants, but he quickly bites the craving back and merely smiles at Woojin. 

“Chan,” Woojin says, open but cautious. He studies Chan for a moment, as if trying to figure out what Chan’s intentions are. 

The group of guys have quieted down to stare at the new presence in their space, and Chan says, louder, still staring at Woojin as he throws an innocuous arm around Woojin’s shoulder, “Didn’t think I’d meet you here, Woojin. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?”

It’s an implied request to be let into Woojin’s world, and Chan thinks Woojin realizes the weight of the question the same time he does, as several pairs of dazed, tipsy eyes watch them. 

Chan has always been good at compartmentalizing his relationships with people, making detached moves in order to preserve the peace and obtain his objectives without leaving any loose ends hanging. With Woojin, though, he has no gameplan, no war tactics planned for every case scenario, just a base need to cross into enemy territory and mark what’s his even if he has no idea what landmines lie ahead. No one turns Chan genuine, honest, hopeful the way Woojin does, and that should honestly be the biggest warning sign in Chan’s head, because he hardly ever lets his true feelings rise this far up in his throat and he usually never risks exposing himself if he can’t take down any forces of opposition first.

It’s like Woojin can see the uncertainty in Chan too, because he only stares at Chan for a moment before making a decision and turning to his friends. 

“This is Chan,” Woojin says, before he begins gesturing to each guy in the circle for introductions. “Chan, this is Sicheng, Lucas, Jungwoo, Kun, Henry, June, and Hojung.” Each corresponding boy offers a nod or small smile at Chan, the closer ones extending unstable but friendly hands for Chan to shake. When his and Sicheng’s hands touch, though, Sicheng’s grip is firm with an undercurrent of ice, and Chan curls his hand into a careful fist at his side as soon as Sicheng lets go of him. 

“Nice to meet all of you,” Chan says, smiling sweetly as he leans further into Woojin’s space, taking full advantage of the opportunity to get a whiff of Woojin’s cologne. Sicheng settles back into his seat with distrust crystallizing in his eyes, and Chan wonders how much of it is vigilance and how much of it is just pure animosity directed towards him specifically. “Jungwoo and Kun don’t go to our university, right?”

“No,” Woojin says, and he goes rigid from the chest up when Chan’s nose brushes his hair, before he settles into it and turns his head so he can better address Chan. “They’re the friends I told you about who are in town for the weekend.” 

“Yes,” Chan says. He draws Jungwoo and Kun into conversation, prying politely for information on how they know Woojin, whether they’re students, where they attend school and what they’re majoring in. Jungwoo is more willing to speak up and answer Chan’s questions than Kun, who’s quiet with giant almond-shaped eyes, and seems to hope that smiling as often as possible will compensate for his laconic answers.

“I didn’t realize you were close with the student president, Woojin!” Lucas says, when the conversation shifts over to how Chan and Woojin met. “You’ve never mentioned him.” The way he pronounces words with extra emphasis and enthusiasm makes Chan recall that Lucas is an international student, since native speakers here let their words roll off their tongue lazily, minimizing and omitting whatever ending syllables aren’t necessary. It’s clear that Lucas has a large artillery of languages he can constantly dip into for reference based on the way he blends his accents and unintentionally slips in Chinese terms that take him a second to realize aren’t understood by everyone in the group.

“Not something I’d go out of my way to mention in conversation,” Woojin says as he pushes Chan’s hand off of his exposed knee, courtesy to the wide rips in his jeans, and moves it slightly higher so that Chan isn’t tickling him. “That tickles, Chan.” 

Sicheng is the only one who catches the moment of intimacy, and the way his eyes narrow means he’s turning over the interaction in his head to evaluate its connotation.

“Sorry,” Chan says, not really meaning it, and the unnatural angle of Woojin’s elbow means he’s deciding whether to poke Chan in the ribcage or not. 

“I’m helping Woojin quit smoking,” Chan says to everyone else, with a wink. “Not that he needs me to do that, but...” 

“Oh?” Jungwoo says, intrigued by this reveal of information. He leans forward, and the narrow width of his frame in conjunction with his slender limbs makes him move like liquid. “Are you the same person who convinced him to quit that awful habit? He’s never listened to me about it, and I went to high school with him.” 

Woojin visibly puts his guard up, angling himself in a way that obscures Chan’s view of Jungwoo’s facial expression.

“A circumstantial sequence of events,” Woojin says quickly, and Chan sneaks two fingers onto the underside of Woojin’s wrist just to see whether he can feel Woojin’s pulse. The noise of other conversations and vibrations from the music playing from the speakers makes it a not so easy task, and Chan lets go just as Woojin sends him a questioning look. “I was going to quit anyway.” 

“Good on you, Woojin. The rest of you should quit, too, because you’re stinking up the hallways every time I’m walking outside,” Lucas says, which elicits groans from the parties guilty of accused offense. 

“Not all of us can be like Woojin,” June says, after the smokers’ excuses and protests die down. “He’s got self-discipline made of steel.” 

“Really?” Chan whispers to Woojin, making sure that no one else hears them. “How come I never got that impression when I sucked your—”

Woojin does elbow Chan this time, hard, while leveling a glare at him cold enough to instantly form frost on the grass outside. “Behave unless you want me to break your ribcage,” he murmurs, and Chan straightens up, chagrined. 

“Yes, sir,” Chan says with a grin. At least Woojin is feeling comfortable enough to bicker with him, thorns melting off of him now that he’s more concerned with making sure Chan stays in line.

Naturally, with a group of tipsy college-aged boys, the conversation doesn’t stay on any one topic for too long and steers away from Chan’s arrival easily, smaller conversations splitting to the side and leaving Chan free to keep silent and cling onto Woojin as much as he wants under the pretense of comradery. 

“Are you drunk?” Woojin asks. 

“No~” Chan says, pitching his voice cutely. At most, he’s more relaxed than usual, less inhibited, but his mind’s still functional. 

“Don’t know why I asked,” Woojin says, and Chan laughs. “Every drunk’s default answer to that question is no.” 

“That’s true. If I were really drunk, though, I’d be crying into your shoulders right about now,” Chan says. 

Woojin snorts. “Are you a sad drunk?”

“Apparently,” Chan says. “Jisung and Changbin have recorded videos of me sitting on the floor and sniffling when I drink too much, though they know better than to show it to other people.” 

“Why?” Woojin asks. “That’s perfect blackmail material.” 

“Because the consequences of exposing me are far worse than the few minutes of glory they’ll receive,” Chan replies, flashing his teeth in an ominous smile. “And also because I have worse material on them.” 

“Why does that not surprise me?” Woojin licks his lips, and Chan forgets all other drifting thoughts in his head as he watches the movement of Woojin’s tongue. “Are you going to keep clinging to me like that?” 

“Am I not allowed to?” Chan asks. 

“You’re heavy,” Woojin says, which isn’t a yes or a no, Chan notes. “Under all those stupid boring buttons you’re just a giant brick wall.” 

“I will take that as a compliment,” Chan says. “I work out very diligently.” 

“You should also take it as a warning to _ move_,” Woojin says, “unless you really do want to experience what it’s like to lose a couple of ribs—”

“You wouldn’t do that to me, right?” Chan asks. He hopes it’s an empty threat, even if just to him. 

“Wouldn’t you like to find out?” is Woojin’s reply, and Chan smartly peels himself off of Woojin before he gets sucker punched to the bones. 

“So cruel, Woojin,” Chan says. “Are you afraid of your friends finding out about me?” 

“About what?” Woojin asks, a challenge flaring up in his eyes. “We’re not anything to each other, so it doesn’t matter.” 

That’s a jab at an open wound, however unintentional, and Chan’s not sure why Woojin’s being so cruel with his words all of a sudden until he sees June and Hojung watching them with curiosity from across the table. That makes the sting of Woojin’s rejection dull a bit, and Chan quickly masks the hurt in his face before Woojin or someone else realizes just how much he cares. 

“I’m the guy you hang out with every Friday night, and also the guy you abandoned last minute for your other friends,” Chan says, tone of his voice equal parts lighthearted and truthful. “I think I deserve to be _ something _ to you, at least.” 

Woojin’s gaze softens at the sincerity in Chan’s voice. “Sorry,” he says. “For cancelling on you, too. I knew you were upset.” 

Chan pouts but says, “It’s fine.” 

“Is it?” Woojin asks with a hum. “You didn’t seem very happy over text.” 

“I’m very accommodating,” Chan says. “We managed to meet each other anyways, and I got to meet your friends.” 

“Why do you sound happy about that?” 

You can learn a lot about someone based on the people they surround themselves with, so this part of Woojin’s life, however ordinary, is a precious puzzle piece that Chan has managed to collect for his personal moodboard on the enigma that is Woojin. 

“Meeting new people is my hobby,” Chan explains. “Also my job, I guess.” 

“It’s not mine,” Woojin says. “But you know that. I’m really only close with Jungwoo, Kun, and Sicheng.” He finishes talking just as there’s a beat of silence in the other conversations, and Sicheng’s eyes snap over at the mention of his name. 

Chan smiles at him thinly. “I don’t think we’ve ever had a chance to talk more in depth with each other, Sicheng.” 

“A shame,” Sicheng replies, with the attitude of a child who is getting a filling done at the dentist’s, and Chan holds back a laugh. 

Woojin becomes less prickly as the three of them make small talk, but he also taps at Chan’s elbow in warning whenever Chan crosses the line and lets his hands wander too far, so Chan eventually has to settle for feeling what little body heat transfers through the sleeves of their touching arms. 

Sicheng, on the other hand, remains wary throughout the entire conversation, with his brows furrowed so intensely that Chan wants to tell him to relax and avoid wrinkling his handsome face. Sicheng probably wouldn’t take that sort of remark very well, so Chan keeps his mouth shut and does his best to be infuriatingly agreeable. It’s not too difficult given that he is genuinely curious about the chemistry portion of the science department, and he gives Sicheng his undivided attention, sprinkling compliments here and there in between Sicheng’s lengthy explanations of what his biochemistry major encompasses. The whole time, Sicheng looks torn between being annoyed and impressed, like he’s dismayed that Chan isn’t trying to one-up him in the intelligence department and is instead, being a fantastic listener with no bruised ego in sight. 

Chan is familiar with the mixed emotions on Sicheng’s face, because he’s received the same reaction countless times from his peers, whether it’s during class discussions, student government meetings, or club events. Sicheng is actively looking for reasons to dislike Chan, but he won’t be able to find any, because Chan always makes sure it’s damn hard for people to pinpoint a legitimate reason to hate him beyond the fragility of their own self-esteem. 

It’s not wrong for Sicheng to be on his guard, though. Chan is most certainly a menace to society, especially when he’s discovered something or _ someone _he wants to keep to himself, and if Sicheng wants so badly to protect Woojin from falling into the wrong hands, he should learn to sink his teeth into the enemy and bite harder rather than just bark senselessly. 

✧❂✧❂✩

Sicheng finds him later in the men’s bathroom and drops all formalities. The transformation is remarkable, honestly, because he goes from vigilant to flat out hostile over the course of a second, and Chan only smiles at him through the mirror as he washes his hands and waits for the tsunami to crash onto shore. 

Whatever alcohol Sicheng’s been consuming hasn’t made much of an impact. His eyes are in focus, with headstrong intentions that Chan is sure will become clearer to him very soon. 

“You’re lucky everyone in here is as drunk as they are,” Sicheng says.

“Here?” Chan says, looking around the empty bathroom pointedly. “We’re the only ones here.”

“No, smartass,” Sicheng says, pointing his thumb towards the doorway. “Everyone out there. Anyone who knows you or Woojin.” 

“And why am I lucky that they’re drunk?” Chan asks, as he turns the faucet off and dries his hands. It’s a shame that Sicheng has decided this is the ideal location for them to have this conversation, because Chan would be a much better conversational partner if he wasn’t surrounded by the rancid stench of public restroom masked by a pitifully weak layer of floral air freshener. 

“Even if you think you’re being discreet, they’d pick up on your hints instantly if they were sober,” Sicheng says. 

Chan blinks at Sicheng in deceiving bewilderment, the same way he does any time he’s trying to exploit a loophole in some silly professor’s poorly written academic policy without letting them realize it. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I know what you’re trying to say?” 

“You’re fucking him, right?” Sicheng asks. 

Chan lets his eyelids drop to half mast. “How vulgar,” he says coldly. “Is this how you talk to all of your new friends?”

“Friends?” Sicheng’s laugh is combative. “We’re acquaintances at best.”

Chan lets all of the politeness slip off of his face once he realizes Sicheng isn’t going to play nice. “I can tell you’re close with Woojin,” he says. “Are both of you completely manner-less when it comes to meeting new people?”

“I’m polite to people who deserve it,” Sicheng says. “Is it good manners, then, to put your hands all over him in front of his friends?” 

“I don’t mean anything bad by it,” Chan says. “I just like him. Is that so wrong?” He places just the right amount of emphasis on _ like, _not too much and not too little, making sure the admission comes out nonchalant and less meaningful than it actually is. 

“You don’t just like him,” Sicheng says with conviction, and there’s a tiny part of Chan that sucks in a breath, fearful of Sicheng’s confidence because it means he knows more than Chan wants him to.

But the rest of Chan just sifts through his word bank of all the different justifications he has prepared by default, because he’s dealt with personalities all across the board and nothing anyone says to him is going to deter him from getting what he wants.

“You want to control every part of him, ‘cause you’ve got some sick, twisted motive about turning him into one of your success projects before you move on to the next challenge,” Sicheng says. “He’s human, asshole, not some conquest for you to feel good about yourself.”

Chan exhales in amusement, almost laughing at how far off the mark Sicheng has landed. Anyone who believes they can work a miracle on Woojin and turn him into some project for their own self-righteous cause is out of their mind, because it only takes seconds to figure out that Woojin bends to no one’s will unless it’s a matter of pleasure and pain. 

It would almost be easier for everyone if Chan viewed Woojin as a conquest, a mere tally mark on a bedpost of achievements. Instead, his desire is simple but deadly; he has no ambition to change who Woojin is, but he plans on sinking his fingertips so far down into Woojin’s depths that Woojin won't be able to live the rest of his life without remembering how much of an impact Chan’s made on him. If he had things go his way, he’d leave marks much more permanent than just teeth grooves and hickeys, shoot inky letters of his name through Woojin’s veins until Woojin’s blood runs black from the thickness of Chan’s devotion. 

“Do you make a hobby out of creating false narratives for your enjoyment?” Chan asks, just to watch the flames of Sicheng’s aggravation take a breath before they burn even hotter. “I’d at least brush up on my observation skills if I were you.”

Sicheng looks off to the side with a sneer before glaring back at Chan with full force. “False narrative? If that’s the case, you’d be less adamant about going alpha on every person who comes within a five foot radius of him.”

“Maybe you’re just projecting,” Chan says, shrugging. “Not sure if you’ve ever heard of that, but it’s a very common coping mechanism—”

Sicheng interrupts him before he even finishes. “I’m not interested in your long winded excuses. I’m warning you not to mess with him.” 

If there’s one thing Chan hates, it’s being interrupted, even more so when his character is being misjudged. He wishes he had real claws to run through Sicheng’s throat and shred it to pieces just to prove a point, and also because he’s tired of the way Sicheng’s voice drones on and on, like he’s the superior one for being less morally gray.

“You’re not a very good listener,” Chan laments. “I wonder how you manage to communicate with other people when you don’t have the patience to hear anyone out to the end?”

“Fine,” Sicheng says, and he crosses his arms across his chest. “What else do you have to say? You’re going to tell me you want to be _ friends _ with Woojin or something? That your intentions are innocent?”

“Innocent, no,” Chan says, with a dry laugh. “But I find him interesting. Isn’t that why you stuck around as his friend? Because you find him interesting?”

“I don’t—” Sicheng pauses, too miffed by Chan’s implication that they’re on the same page to continue explaining himself. “Don’t compare me to you.” 

“Why are you so against me, specifically?” Chan asks. He takes a step towards Sicheng. “Are you afraid I’m going to hurt him? I think Woojin’s capable of taking care of himself.”

“He is, but he chooses not to because he’s reckless,” Sicheng says. “And I don’t want him spending time with someone whose interest in him is misguided and fleeting.”

Is it so wrong, that Chan sees greatness in Woojin and wants to be the one standing behind him when Woojin rises up and finally receives the acknowledgment that the world owes him? Chan knows exactly how capable Woojin is, and he’s not interested in being a savior of a boy who doesn’t need it, just invested in watching a dragon leave behind its shallow waters as Woojin settles into his skin and inevitably finds his place in society. 

“Whether something is misguided is subjective,” Chan says, enunciating every single word so that even a hot-tempered dimwit like Sicheng can read between the lines and figure out what he really means. “But whatever makes you think my interest in Woojin is fleeting?”

Sicheng’s eyes widen in realization, but the tension between them breaks when Lucas stumbles into the bathroom and interrupts whatever scathing reply Sicheng’s in the process of forming.

“Hey!” Lucas says. “So this is where you two have been? In the restroom? I have been…” he glances around again, like he needs to double check where his wobbly legs have taken him. “Looking for you. But I also need to pee—” 

“I was just leaving,” Sicheng says, holding onto Lucas’s arm to steady him. “You drunk?” 

“I’m definitely _ not _ drunk,” Lucas says, even as he trips over his words and leans against the sink counter with the coordination of a newborn deer. Maybe even less than that, because he’s only got two legs to worry about compared to four, and he’s already failing at standing up straight.

“Whatever you say,” Sicheng says, all hardness in his voice gone in the wake of Lucas’s bubbly laugh. “I’m leaving first.” He gives Chan a final look of pure acridness, turning away before Chan has a chance to even think about continuing their original conversation. Not that Chan would want to, but he’s sure Sicheng has questions regarding Chan’s implication that he’s interested in Woojin for the long run.

“Okay!” Lucas grins, looking every bit like an oversized puppy as he stares at Sicheng’s retreating form, and he turns to Chan once Sicheng is fully out of sight. 

If anyone is bothered by the brightness of Chan’s smiles, they’d probably go blind from the wattage power of Lucas’s pearly whites. “So you’re Woojin’s friend?” Lucas asks. 

“I suppose,” Chan says dryly, not bothering with his usual level of manners. Lucas won’t remember this conversation tomorrow anyway, so there’s no point in putting on a nice front after the accusatory interrogation Sicheng put him through. “Is that what he tells you?” 

“He doesn’t talk much about you, but he looked very happy when you came over to greet us,” Lucas says. “So I assumed...” 

“Assumptions are dangerous, puppy, if they’re baseless,” Chan says. Assumptions, and alcohol, he supposes, are the reason why Sicheng came at him ready to declare war despite the fact that Chan hasn’t done very much to earn such contempt. “Only trust what you know.” 

“That’s confusing,” Lucas says.

“Plenty of things in life are,” Chan says. “So don’t worry about it.” He thinks that’s going to be the end of the conversation, but when he turns to leave, Lucas tugs at his sleeve to get his attention again.

“Yes?” Chan asks, turning to look back at Lucas. Everything about him is so oversized, in an endearing way. His hands are gigantic as he fidgets with them, and his irises are dark and large in his saucer-like eyes as he stares earnestly at Chan. 

“I’m not sure what your relationship with Woojin is,” Lucas says, slowly, “but as long as you’re nice to him, I think you don’t have to pay attention to what Sicheng says.”

“Oh?” Chan says, assuming a softer tone of voice now that the clarity in Lucas’s gaze has returned, even if only briefly. He hadn’t realized Lucas’s brain would spare him a few lucid moments to catch the tension between him and Sicheng. “Were you listening to what we were talking about?”

“Yes,” Lucas says. He looks a little bit like a frog, when he tries that hard to open his eyes and keep his train of thought going. A handsome frog, though. “Not on purpose, but… that’s why I came in, before Sicheng got too ahead of himself and upset you.” His eyebrows scrunch in uncertainty, like he’s not sure if he did the right thing or not.

“Do you think I have misguided intentions, too?”

“I don’t know you well enough to answer that question,” Lucas says. “But Woojin is… he’s always been angry at the world… at adults. At people who don’t know how to look past first impressions and their personal prejudices.”

Chan nods. “Yes.”

“But he’s less angry, now,” Lucas says. “Happier. And I think that might have something to do with you, since he seemed to cheer up when you came over.”

“Hmm,” Chan says. Lucas is going to be a favorite of his, he can tell, and he makes a mental note to treat Lucas to a meal sometime in the future. “My hero. You should have come in earlier to rescue me, puppy.”

“Puppy?” Lucas says, and Chan realizes Lucas didn’t even hear him the first time around. “I’m not a dog.”

“That’s an assumption,” Chan says, just to watch confusion contort Lucas’s facial features. “Are you completely certain that you’ve got no traces of golden retriever DNA in you?”

“What?” Lucas asks. “Is that possible?”

“I don’t know,” Chan says, hands shooting out to catch Lucas when the taller boy sways unsteadily. Lucas manages to catch himself though, and Chan withdraws his hands. “I’ve read a few articles on humans who have part animal DNA in them…”

“You’re messing with me,” Lucas says solemnly.

“You’re too sweet for me to do that to you,” Chan lies, grinning when Lucas starts patting at his face, as if looking for any stray fur that might have grown between now and the last time he looked in a mirror. What makes it funnier is the fact that he’s relying on his hands and forgets there’s a wall of mirrors right in front of him. “I’d look into it, if I were you, puppy.”

“I’m going to have an identity crisis,” Lucas says with a frown, and that has Chan laughing to himself as he leaves the bathroom, mulling over what Lucas has just told him. 

✧❂✧❂✩

Chan is rarely driven by his emotions. 

He navigates his life based on one operational goal: success in all the different ways he can get it, and his day to day routine consists of neatly partitioned activities that benefit him by bringing him closer to victory in whatever he’s set his mind on conquering. 

The same principle applies to every social maneuver he makes. It’s cruel to say so, but humans categorize each other in one of two ways: obstacles or stepping stones, and Chan isn’t as self-righteous to pretend he’s above that primitive, heartless game of give and take. That lesson is proven again and again whenever someone helps him in the hopes that he’ll return the favor tenfold, as if their ulterior motives aren’t clear as glass from the moment they approach him. Naturally, acting as student president makes it even more logical for him to cycle through various friendships, his interactions with certain individuals thinning out when they no longer serve each other any purpose. 

That’s not to say that the fate of all human communication is so morbid. On occasion he comes into contact with someone who doesn’t expect something in return when they do him a favor, or someone confident enough in their own efforts that they don’t see him as a threat to their survival. Even so, there are really only two people outside of his family he would trust with his life: Jisung and Changbin, and one he’d trust with only half his life: Jihyo. Everyone else is a drifting ship on his desolate journey through the expansive, vast ocean waters that threaten to swallow him up any time he’s left to his own devices for too long. 

Then came Woojin. 

A boy-man with an oddly aligned moral compass and an even odder personality, completely uninterested in utilizing what he already understands about the human condition to move his way up the social hierarchy. A seasoned delinquent at first glance, but at closer inspection, a deep, dark ocean of enigmatic thoughts. If Woojin just exerted a fraction of the effort other people do to make himself likeable, more palatable to the world, he’d become highly coveted in a heartbeat. 

In theory, Woojin has nothing to offer Chan. A student with a history of violence and rule-breaking whenever it matches his mood, however circumstantial, is not someone Chan would benefit from associating with. Woojin has no connections, offers no flattery, and possesses no desire to be desirable. 

And yet, as mismatched as they may look on the surface, the startling contrast of their appearances and their personalities makes Chan feel so _ much _ that he almost can’t stand it, like he’s being reborn again and again just to learn what it means to bleed raw, wholehearted emotion and then heal from it. Woojin is compassionate in all the ways Chan is not, vividly angry while Chan only resigns himself to watery disappointment, a steady heartbeat in junction with the rapidfire pace of Chan’s heart in the moments Chan tries to figure out how to not hate himself. 

That’s why, as much as he wants to believe he’ll eventually get Woojin out of his system and that he’s the one leaving a mark on Woojin’s soul, Chan knows in the back of his mind it’s the other way around. If Woojin ever decides he no longer wants to play this game of push and pull with Chan, Chan will be the one who shatters into brittle pieces all over his apartment floor. He’ll have no choice but to brand the way Woojin’s hands feel on him into his memory as a keepsake, force himself to forget the thrill of anticipating Woojin’s broad hands on his body. 

Perhaps that’s what causes the downward spiral of Chan’s lack of control this evening, the fact that his time with Woojin feels like an invisible countdown no matter how good he is at manipulating people into staying with him, and the anxiety of watching Woojin pay attention to anyone who’s not him makes him feel like he’s dying from the inside out. What draws Chan to Woojin is the same reason they might eventually part, and it’s unfair that Woojin has this much leverage over Chan’s heart when Chan is supposed to be the one who finds people easily replaceable. 

Course of action determined, he finds Daniel and Jihyo where he last left them. They probably danced a little while he was gone, because Jihyo’s black pumps are half slipping off of her feet as she chatters happily about the upcoming concert for the music club, Daniel keeping her from sliding off of her chair with a stabilizing hand on her shoulders. 

Jihyo stops mid-sentence when she notices Chan’s return, and asks, “Where’s your man?”

Chan rolls his eyes instead of arguing with her. “If you’re referring to Woojin, he’s sitting over there.”

“Do you need a ride home, Chan?” Daniel asks kindly. “Jihyo should probably be heading back soon, so I can drop you off too if you want.”

“I’m good,” Chan says, looking back at Woojin, whose back is facing them. “I’m going to make sure Woojin gets home okay.”

Jihyo perks up at the mention of Chan taking Woojin home, and she sends Chan a look that’s supposed to be sneaky but ends up coming across just silly in its delivery. “_Sure_,” she says, as Daniel looks between the two of them to figure out what secret message he’s missed in the underlying tone of Jihyo’s one word response.

“Good luck getting Jihyo to leave,” Chan says to Daniel, because Jihyo is a nightmare to command when she’s in the gray region between autonomous and black-out drunk, and Daniel only pouts at him.

“Don’t think too hard about something that’s not there. Your brain might blow a fuse,” Chan says to Jihyo, and she stares at him with half-lidded eyes until she gets that he’s teasing her, which is when they grow wide and indignant. 

“You shut up,” Jihyo yelps, offended, but her distracted state is what allows Daniel to put her jacket on for her easily, and he sends Chan a grateful smile for easing Jihyo into the first step of leaving. 

When Chan stops at Woojin’s table, most of Woojin’s friends have already left, peeling off in groups of twos or threes as they got tired, and now there’s only Sicheng and Lucas, along with another Chinese boy who’s taking on all of Lucas’s weight as the giant rambles about how he’d been rejected for a role in his acting workshop because he was deemed too tall and too manly to portray the character’s youthful nature. 

“Youthful?” Lucas wails. “Am I not the _ epitome _of youth?!” 

“You are,” Sicheng says, keeping a watchful eye on Chan as Chan approaches Woojin. “I’d be hard pressed to find someone who thinks you’re not.”

“Exactly,” Lucas says. “It’s all Ms. Taylor’s fault that my dreams have been crushed—” 

Woojin is still laughing when he turns to look at who’s taken the empty seat next to him, and doesn’t seem surprised at all that it’s Chan here to vie for his attention again. 

“Come home with me,” Chan says, voice low as his lips brush against the tips of Woojin’s ear. 

Woojin hums. Turns to look at Chan with those soft brown eyes that always make Chan feel a little less destructive, a little less like a calamity waiting to break free and wreak havoc. “Hmm? What’s wrong?”

“You owe me the rest of your night,” Chan says, finally letting the brunt of his jealousy emerge in full force. He ignores Sicheng’s careful eyes on them, because it doesn’t matter what Sicheng thinks as long as Woojin is the one buckling and giving in to what Chan asks of him. 

Woojin laughs quietly, like he’s been expecting this but still finds it funny that Chan’s actually proving him right. He’s more receptive to Chan’s advances, now that there are fewer eyes paying attention to the atmosphere between them, and that opens a new window to his deceptively indifferent nature. 

“Do I?” he asks. 

No. Woojin doesn’t owe Chan anything, because he’s allure and anarchy all at once, beautiful in the way he operates according to his own agenda and follows rules when they happen to fall into the vicinity of his own path. He’s contained within the constraints of a shell seemingly simplistic while the psyche inside of it runs as deep as ocean waters, pulling Chan to the ocean floor without any reservation. 

Woojin owes Chan nothing, and yet he’s staring back at Chan like he’s going to give in to him. Like he’s willingly accepting defeat for Chan when he yields to no one else, ever, and that knowledge alone makes Chan’s insides flare up like a sweltering hot afternoon in the middle of July. 

“Please,” Chan says, as evenly as he can manage. He is millimeters away from ripping all of Woojin’s clothes off and staking his claim for everyone else to see, which would probably not be a good idea as much as his lust driven brain urges his hands to reach out and make their mark. 

A smile plays at Woojin’s lips, and he leans into Chan’s space as he curls fingers around the thickest part of Chan’s thigh, offering equal parts compliance and possessiveness. Chan likes him so _ much. _Fuck. “You should be more careful, student president.” 

Chan knows that better than anyone. Desire consumes his entire body anyway, sending electricity to his fingertips as he stares at the man who both gives him power and strips it away all in the same breath. Everything else in the room clears out of his peripheral vision, and Chan is too engrossed in the obscurity of Woojin’s eyes to care about how other people see them, whether other people can read the want written all over Chan’s face. 

He gives Woojin a wide-eyed look even though he knows Woojin will be able to see through it instantly. “About what?” 

“About making messes you can’t clean up,” Woojin says. “What does it look like when the student president makes a habit of taking a guy with an unsavory reputation back to his place?” He’s returned back to the Woojin Chan knows and loves, the one who worries about whether Chan has enough air even as his fingers press bruises along the column of Chan’s throat and forbid him from breathing easy. 

“It’ll look like no one’s business except ours,” Chan says, because _ god, _he really doesn’t fucking care about anything at this point except the fastest way for them to get their hands on each other.

“Fair enough,” Woojin says. “You’d be better off being a little more inconspicuous, though.” 

“You wanna keep me a secret that bad, Woojin?” Chan’s tongue feels like an invader in his own mouth, thick and heavy. It might feel less so, if it’s in the mouth of the man staring back at him with dark ocean eyes. 

“I think I should be the one to ask that,” Woojin says, and the downward curl of his lower lip betrays a sliver of insecurity Chan has never noticed until now. “But it seems you’ve broken out of your typical routine.” 

“You burn too brightly for anyone to hide you away,” Chan says, and means it. “Don’t you know that?” 

“That means I’m also hot enough to burn you if you’re not paying attention,” Woojin says. “Is that a risk you want to take, student president?” 

From the moment Woojin opened his mouth to spit a caustic warning at the student president brazen enough to tell him to stop smoking or _ move _, Chan’s never really stood a chance. And when Woojin is staring at him like this, Chan couldn’t care any less about the consequences of playing with fire as long as it’s the flames of Woojin’s undivided attention on him. 

“I’m attracted to danger, Woojinnie,” Chan says. “Though I believe it’s a different sort of danger than the type you seek out. What do you think?” 

“I think you’re obnoxious,” Woojin says, but the smile on his face suggests the possibility that he doesn’t really mind.

✧❂✧❂✩

They take an Uber back to Chan’s apartment. They don’t touch, don’t even look at each other the whole way home, because they’re standing in water where lightning has struck and one misstep from either of them is going to send an electric current running through the loop of their connection and set both of their bodies alight. 

When they arrive in front of Chan’s apartment complex, it’s nearing midnight. There are hardly any people out on the street, so Chan practically drags Woojin out of the Uber in his haste to get _ out, _ and he can hear Woojin’s amused chuckle under his breath as they scramble to secure privacy as soon as their legs will take them to it. 

Woojin hooks his chin over Chan’s shoulder when Chan fiddles with his keychain, apartment key hidden in between a jumble of other miscellaneous keys he’s holding on to, and it’s weird, that such a small gesture is what weighs him down long enough to finally find the key and twist it into the keyhole of his front door. 

“Watch your step,” Chan says, like Woojin hasn’t been here a million times already, and Woojin peels himself off of Chan as they step inside, flicking the foyer light on with ease while Chan takes off his shoes. 

Finally alone, there’s only a foot of space separating them, and they stare at each other in silence, each hyper aware of the buzz in the air. Whoever makes the wrong move first determines who’s prey and who’s predator tonight, and even though Woojin almost always gives in to him, Chan can never be too sure if Woojin will go in for Chan’s throat as soon as he lets his guard down. 

Woojin blinks, and Chan takes that split second of inattentiveness to pin him against the front door, splaying his palm at the spot where Woojin’s head will make an impact so that Woojin doesn’t feel any pain. Pushing faux leather and polyester out of his way, Chan rushes forward to nose along the line of Woojin’s jaw and down the side of Woojin’s neck, taking in the scent of cologne and alcohol and more importantly, _ intruder. _

“You smell different than usual,” Chan says, frustrated that the foreign smell lingering on Woojin’s clothes makes him recall the way Sicheng had clung onto Woojin, like a parasite that refused to let go of its host even as its death rapidly approached.

“You’re upset about something,” Woojin says, sucking in a breath when Chan’s teeth graze his shoulder, surveying their options before deciding where they’ll sink their cusps into. Chan hums, lips touching the soft skin that dips in between the boundaries of Woojin’s trap muscle and clavicle bone. The vibration is probably ticklish because Woojin lets out a rare giggly squeak and tries to escape from the tremor of sensation. “It’s like you’re…” 

Chan pulls back and makes eye contact with Woojin. “Like I’m what?”

“Jealous,” Woojin says, and him saying that aloud is both a relief and a burden, making Chan’s chest ache from how much he wants to resolve these unsettled emotions inside of him. 

Chan doesn’t deny or confirm the conjecture, but Woojin understands him better than he’d like to admit and continues to speak, offering reassurance without pressuring Chan into saying or doing anything he’s not ready to offer. 

“We were at a bar, so it makes sense for me to smell different,” he says, and pauses to help Chan strip him out of his jacket and sapphire blue shirt, laughing when Chan growls at the struggle of getting his fingers onto the tiny buttons and pushing them through their corresponding buttonholes. They wouldn’t be so hard to tolerate if he were in a better mood, but alas, Chan’s perception of the world at this moment is tinted green in resentment and envy. “Now you know how I feel, Chan, because you never wear normal shirts.” 

Chan clears the last button and wrestles the shirt off of Woojin’s shoulders, flinging the material to the ground with a ferociousness he’s no longer bothering to hide. He nearly rips his own shirt in his haste to get it off, and presses back against Woojin as soon as both of their torsos are liberated from the prison of their clothes. Woojin’s body is like the sun, Chan a mere planet pulled into the star’s mighty orbit, and Chan has always known deep down that he’d be fated to worship nothing but the celestial god of this solar system. 

“You’d smell less different if someone hadn’t put their dirty paws all over you,” Chan blurts out before he can filter it into something more mysterious, and there’s no way to hide the tone of a remark so blatantly petulant. 

Woojin stares at Chan for a moment, amused. “Are you talking about Sicheng?” he finally asks. 

When Chan doesn’t say anything in reply, just tucks his face back into Woojin’s neck to inhale what remaining notes of Woojin’s cinnamon tinged cologne he can get, Woojin laughs. “Don’t bury your face in my neck and evade my questions. You don’t like him?” 

“No. He’s mean,” Chan says sulkily, which makes Woojin snort. 

“Right,” Woojin retorts. “So you’re telling me you’re an angel?” He says it in the kind of voice that means he doesn't buy into Chan playing the victim card at all but has decided to like him anyway, yielding to Chan’s hands curling around his neck and sliding down his chest. 

“I can be for you,” Chan says, kissing the corner of Woojin’s mouth, pouting when he sees Woojin roll his eyes. If Woojin gives him the chance, he’ll be as good or as bad as Woojin needs him to be. “I’m serious~” 

“Sure you are,” Woojin replies. “It was fun to watch you try and do the human equivalent of peeing on a fire hydrant without me noticing.” 

“I was just being friendly,” Chan says. His heart soars at the way Woojin is staring at him, both fond and exasperated but not at all dismissive despite Chan’s childish behavior.

“You’re hardly ever friendly without a goal in mind, and you wanted to prove a point,” Woojin says. 

“You make it seem so calculated,” Chan says, groping Woojin’s ass to try and distract him. 

It doesn’t work. Woojin puts halting hands on Chan’s wrists and asks, “Was it not?” 

“I can’t say that it wasn’t,” Chan admits, the words coming out of him one by one like teeth being pulled, and Woojin gives him a triumphant grin. 

“See?“ Woojin says, and that know-it-all tone of voice would be infuriating if it were anyone else, but Woojin is only ever smug about what the both of them already accept as truths, and he’s never condescending when it comes to pointing out the rougher edges of Chan’s personality. 

“You didn’t stop me,” Chan points out. 

“Would you have listened to me?” Woojin asks. “You’re persistent when you want something.” 

“I would have definitely listened,” Chan whispers, in the midst of dropping pecks all over Woojin’s jaw and chin. “I’m obedient if it’s for the right person. If it’s for you.” 

Chan, who sweet talks his way in and out of most situations and predicts all the outcomes of a scenario before he even creates it, is uncharacteristically honest and impulsive when it comes to Woojin. Woojin, without uttering a single word, makes Chan want to take risks, makes Chan want to break out of his perfectly boxed in life and bring Woojin with him on a road trip and pretend they’re the only two people in the world as they relax in a quiet beach town, wind nipping at their hair and clothes until the thrill of a new place leaves its caked residue on their skin. 

And Woojin, who is so quick to snap, so ready to _ fight _because the world has dealt him hurdle after hurdle of others’ misjudgment and contempt, is willing to slow down when it’s Chan reminding him. He thinks things out more now, compared to when Chan first met him, and resorts to the well established intelligence that’s always resided inside of him instead of bristling as instantaneously as he used to. 

They’re such different people, but at the end of the day Chan is floored by how well their personalities go together, how odd it is that they’ve chosen to yield to each other when they’re unwilling to yield for anyone else. Chan really, really, _ really _doesn’t ever want to lose Woojin, and the thought of that being even a possibility is terrifying—

Curbing the thought there, he lifts Woojin off of the ground by gripping onto the back of Woojin’s thighs and hoisting him up, pushing forward so that Woojin’s back rests against the wall, and that leaves Woojin with no choice but to wrap his arms around Chan in his grapple for balance. 

Woojin sputters, “What—” 

“You’re easier to lift than I thought, Princess Woojinnie,” Chan says, and hopes that his lust will make him forget how much he wants to ask Woojin to keep him forever. 

“Call me that one more time, fucker,” Woojin says, but he opens up easily when Chan surges forward and kisses him, because occupying Woojin’s mouth means Woojin will be too busy sucking at Chan’s lip to complain about Chan calling him a princess or how roughly he’s being treated. 

“My spine is going to break, you demon,” he complains anyway, into Chan’s mouth, and Chan understands what he’s said immediately because the syllables have been etched into the insides of his cheeks. 

“You’re strong enough to take it, aren’t you?” Chan asks, keeping his eyes right on Woojin as he grinds against the growing hardness in Woojin’s jeans. 

Woojin moans, then pulls Chan in by the neck so he can kiss him again in the filthiest way possible, growing increasingly needy and commanding in every lick and heated bite he offers the inside of Chan’s mouth. It’s fortunate that Chan’s tongue piercing healed long before he met Woojin, because he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to turn down the way Woojin fixates at the metal with his tongue, tugging at the bar and running his saliva in every possible crevice until Chan is left wondering whether it’s worth it to stop breathing just so he never has to take his mouth off of Woojin’s. 

With a parting nibble on Woojin’s lower lip, Chan pulls away. He makes sure he has enough leverage to keep Woojin from falling and moves both of their bodies away from the wall so that he can carry Woojin into his bedroom. 

“Tired?” Woojin says teasingly. He clings to Chan with all four limbs, though, in case Chan retaliates by dropping him on the floor. “I thought you were going to fuck me like that the whole time.” 

He really should be more mindful about what he says, since Chan is good at remembering things and even better at waiting patiently for promises to be forgotten before he fulfills them at double the intensity. “I have different plans today,” Chan replies. “But that’s a good idea for another time.” 

“Jesus,” Woojin says, and Chan’s unsure whether that’s in reaction to his implied promise for wall-fucking in the future, or a reaction to the way Chan drops him onto the bed without any warning and gets straight down to business. It doesn’t really matter, because Chan is busy pulling Woojin’s jeans off with such a concentrated urgency that he doesn’t even bother to toss them nicely like he usually does, just hurls them onto the floor as soon as Woojin’s feet and calves are free of the denim. 

“I’m sweaty,” Woojin says, as Chan doggedly pulls at the waistband of Woojin’s briefs, too. Woojin is fully hard now, and Chan can see where the head of his cock is staining the cotton fabric with pre-cum. It’s almost offensive that he’s waited this long before getting Woojin naked, and he licks his lips, appetite tripling now that he’s able to take in Woojin’s visible arousal. “Aren’t you going to let me shower first?” 

“You’re just going to end up sweaty and dirty again,” Chan counters, cupping Woojin’s bulge in a V-formation with his index and middle fingers as he licks down the center of Woojin’s chest and tastes salt. Woojin shivers. “So what’s the point?” 

“You’re being a little…” Woojin says, trailing off, and Chan’s slutty prefrontal cortex comes to a screeching halt at the hesitation in Woojin’s voice. 

“Are you scared?” Chan asks. “Do you want me to stop?” He’s okay with an embarrassed or annoyed Woojin, but he won’t do anything to a Woojin who’s afraid and uncomfortable, and he’ll let Woojin go home if that’s what Woojin really wants. 

“No,” Woojin says, cheeks coloring, “and no. Not scared, but you’re just being…a lot, today.” 

Well, for one thing. Chan isn’t usually fired up by the prejudiced scrutiny of Chinese biochem majors with no manners. 

“Too much to handle?” he asks. He is only one person in Woojin’s life out of many, of course, and he’d be stupid to think he’s special to Woojin, but having the reality of that thrown in his face makes him anxious to tighten his grasp on what little of Woojin _ does _ belong to him. 

“No,” Woojin answers. “I can handle you just fine.” And at that, something inside of Chan melts, seeing that Woojin never knows what he’s signing up for whenever he gives in to Chan and yet he chooses to do so anyway. 

“I’m not going to be as nice today,” Chan says in warning. He can feel his heart picking up in its beat, whirring of blood pulsing through his blood vessels like the sound of a subway whizzing through an underground railway. His mind is inky black in a narrow, empty tunnel, and the only thing he can see at the end of it is Woojin, surrounded in a backdrop by blinding white. “Do you still want to…?” 

“If I didn’t want this,” Woojin says, slowly, “You would have ended up with a broken arm already.” 

The monster inside of Chan’s chest stirs awake, purring in delight at the fact that Woojin has welcomed its arrival with such a loving statement. 

Clasping their hands together, Chan pulls Woojin up and off of the bed, steadying Woojin when he accidentally overestimates how much Woojin weighs and sends Woojin flying into him. Woojin’s nose collides with Chan’s chest, and to express his grievances, he sucks a wet, sloppy, _ mean _ mark into Chan’s pec, right above his left nipple, only making Chan even harder in his pants. 

“C’mere,” Chan says, beckoning for Woojin to take a few steps forward, closer towards his closet doors which are full sliding mirrors. 

“Oho,” Woojin says, not realizing yet where Chan’s destination lies because he’s tired and clueless. “Sounds kinky. You gonna fuck me against the window?” 

“And give someone a good show for free?” Chan chuckles. “Hell no.” 

Even without his reply, both of them would have known the answer to Woojin’s question because they’ve become familiar with each other’s temperaments. Woojin’s vulgarity doesn’t extend past his verbal threats, and Chan thrives off of knowing he has the sole, private privilege to embarrass Woojin, a sight for no one else to see but him. His sexual interests really only lie in how to make Woojin lose control, and Chan is much too possessive of the man he’s captured with such great difficulty to allow anyone else to see how he breaks Woojin down like a code he’s cracked time and time again. 

“It’s something even better~” Chan says. 

“Better?” Woojin echoes, then groans when he sees that they’re going to be right in front of the mirror. “Chan, what the fuck.” 

“Why?” Chan asks, kissing at Woojin’s neck and sucking at a spot he knows will be visible to everyone except Woojin. “What’s wrong with this?” 

“Are you not going to at least turn off the light?” Woojin asks. 

Chan just laughs, wrapping his arms tighter around Woojin’s waist. “Nope,” he says, popping the _ “p” _as insolently as possible and wiggling his eyebrows until Woojin sees the gesture through the mirror. “How else am I going to make sure my fingers end up in the right place?” 

“By putting them where you always put them, dumbass,” Woojin says. “You’re so…” 

“So spontaneous?” Chan asks. “Why, thank you, Woojin.” 

“You can’t thank yourself for a compliment no one gave you,” Woojin says, peeved. 

“I just did,” Chan says. 

“You’re really, _ really _ annoying,” Woojin says. 

“I’ll be less annoying if you put your hands on the mirror,” Chan says, sweet but firm, and Woojin does as he’s told, knowing the faster he cooperates, the faster both of them will get what they want. The dip of his spine is so tantalizing that Chan temporarily forgets his predominant goal and just gives into base desire, licking a lecherous stripe up the middle of Woojin’s gold kissed back muscles.

Woojin shivers at the wetness, the chilliness of titanium like a pretty bow tied on top, and his knees would probably buckle if his hands weren’t propped against the mirror. Chan can see Woojin’s legs go wobbly, and he ponders over how best to fuck Woojin so that both of them can watch just how abject Woojin becomes after being wrecked to pieces by Chan’s cock.

Chan considers keeping Woojin’s underwear partially on, because he prefers his meals still partly packaged, like they’re too good to unwrap fully before he’s already devouring them and licking the remnants of their taste off of his fingertips. It doesn’t help that he’s attracted to all things clandestine, like the image of fucking someone with their clothes still on because they didn’t have the discipline to wait before giving in to their primal desires. Ultimately, he makes Woojin step out of them so that it’s just Woojin’s bare body in front of him, and he tosses Woojin’s briefs with just enough force that they land on the edge of his bed.

“You looked so good tonight,” he says, noting the incessant, little jerks Woojin’s hips make every time Chan’s hands slide past the crook of where Woojin’s thigh and pelvis meets and stop just shy of Woojin’s cock, pink and impatiently swollen. On the outside, Woojin is cold and unfriendly, a cool cat of a man, but given the right circumstances, he burns hot enough that anyone who touches him would instantly catch a bout of fever. “But you look even better like this, with your pretty legs spread out for me and your hips shaking in anticipation.” 

“You’re such a pervert,” Woojin says, even as he muffles a moan. “And so talkative.” 

“You like me anyways,” Chan says smugly. “You know, I thought about ripping off all of your clothes in front of everyone and fucking you so that they would know who you belong to.”

“Is that the sort of legacy you’ve been planning on leaving behind?” Woojin asks, smirk apparent even in his voice, but Chan doesn’t miss the way his breath hitches at the idea. “What a headline that would be: _ former student president kicked out of school for having public sex out on the dance floor in local bar_.”

“I think they’d forgive me if they saw you,” Chan says. “After all, who would be able to resist a delicious kitten like you?” He’s never been one to overindulge in the more wicked of human pleasures, but Woojin’s body is a sin he’s willing to give up his soul for even if it means he’ll never see heaven. 

“A lot of people,” Woojin says. “Because your taste is...unconventional, to say the least. I don’t know a lot of people that meet someone by telling them off for smoking and then want to fuck them afterward.” 

”I could never be conventional even if I wanted to,” Chan says. “But that’s nothing new for you, right?” 

“It isn’t,” Woojin says, in agreement, and Chan moves his hands to Woojin’s ass, palming at the soft curvature of muscle before he lets the pads of his index and middle fingers drag an enticing line that connects between the perineum and Woojin’s twitching heat. 

He pulls a lube packet from his back pocket, using his teeth to rip it open before he lets the contents drip down the lowest part of Woojin’s back and presses whatever drips too far down back along Woojin’s rim. Some of the lube spills over onto the back of his hand, and he gives a tentative lick to see whether it’s flavored as advertised. Strawberry. Not so exciting by itself, but probably will be exciting enough if he finds any more packets to pour out on Woojin’s dick the next time he sucks Woojin off. 

“You’re prepared,” Woojin observes. He’s staring at Chan through the mirror, eyelashes thick and dark but still sparse enough for his gaze to show through clearly. “Were you planning on doing something in the bar?” 

Chan shakes his head. “It’s a coincidence,” he says honestly. “I didn’t even know that you were going to be there.” 

“Hmmm,” Woojin says, looking over his shoulder to observe Chan. “I like the glitter, by the way.” 

Chan had forgotten about the remnants of body shimmer on his skin. “Do you really?” he asks. “It’s a bit flashy.” 

“Just like you,” Woojin says dryly, and cries out when Chan bites him in retaliation. 

Hand slathered with a healthy layer of lubricant, Chan presses inside of Woojin one knuckle, then one digit at a time until Woojin is stretched three fingers wide, paying close attention to the pattern of Woojin’s breaths so that he can figure out which places feel the best. Woojin usually doesn’t tell him what feels better just so he can maintain some amount of control, but Chan is well versed enough in Woojin’s body that he knows what it looks like when Woojin wants more of something in particular.

He presses his lips to Woojin’s temple, kissing the angles of Woojin’s face every so often as he slowly but surely takes Woojin apart with the unrelenting slip and slide of his fingers against Woojin’s inner walls, lube slippery enough to remove any discomfort from the stretch but still giving friction gratifying enough to make Woojin gasp for air every single time Chan nearly pulls his fingers all the way out before settling right back in. 

He’s not actively trying to tease Woojin, but it’s hard for him not to drag things out when he so adores making things more difficult than they have to be, especially now that he has an actual reason to take out his frustration on Woojin. Friday may have passed already, but Chan’s mania over a missed day designated for him and Woojin doesn’t end just because the clock strikes twelve. 

Woojin is wordless now, save for the noises of desperation that occasionally leak out of him the same way his pre-cum is spurting weakly out onto his cock, and Chan repeatedly drags Woojin so close to the edge of climax that there are a few times he’s afraid Woojin is going to actually hit his peak, but Chan always manages to hold it off by trapping the base of Woojin’s cock in his free hand and squeezing. 

He dangles the potential of orgasm in front of Woojin like he would a laser beam on the wall for a cat, pushing and pulling Woojin’s attention wherever he wants it to go all while knowing that, in the end, Woojin will surge forward and realize his orgasm is only as tangible as a colored light on a wall, disappearing at the click of a button when he needs it most. Chan does feel a little cruel after preventing Woojin from coming for the third time, like Woojin’s a climber challenging himself to crawl up a mountain again and again just to get pushed off the other side to his demise whenever he finally reaches the top. 

He’s not that sorry, though. It’s only under such excruciating pressure that Woojin’s armor finally crushes in on itself, forcing him to become more honest, more defenseless in front of Chan as Chan capitalizes on the way Woojin’s body fights back against the pleasure repeatedly lavished on his prostate. 

“You’re so needy,” Chan says. “You like my fingers in your ass that much?” 

“No—” Woojin says with great difficulty, the word stretching long and whiny with beseeching exasperation when Chan pulls all of his fingers out, Woojin’s body clenching at empty space in the hopes that it’ll soon be filled again. His cock is an angry red, and Chan runs his thumb along the bulging vein that stretches along the shaft which makes Woojin thrust forward at nothing but air, his shoulders trembling at the overstimulation. “Chan, god, _ fuck_.” 

His hands have slipped downwards on the mirror, because Chan can see the streak marks of sweat in the wake of Woojin’s drifting fingertips and palms, and he pushes up on Woojin’s forearms to make Woojin move his hands back into position. Chan could come in his pants just like this, that’s how much he likes watching Woojin get shredded to pieces by pleasure, unable to obtain the release he so desperately needs Chan to give him, and the ache of desire has Chan grinding against Woojin’s hip until his whole body burns with the buzz of anticipation and he’s seeing nothing but deep, dark red. Woojin pushes back against him, unsure but demanding and provocative. 

Chan’s mind is a blur as he finally gives in to the depraved hunger collecting at the pit of his stomach and takes off his jeans and briefs, cock bumping into Woojin’s thigh greedily before he walks over to the nightstand next to his bed and rummages through the drawers for a condom. 

“Do you know whether your ass has an inclination for passionfruit or mango?” he asks as he stares at the tiny flavor labels on the two condom wrappers in his hands. 

Woojin’s gaze is clouded when he lifts his head to give Chan his best attempt at a dirty look. “...What?” 

“Like… does your ass have taste buds?”

“You’re going to lose _ your _ taste buds pretty soon when I rip your tongue out of your mouth,” Woojin says with a snarl. 

“Mango it is,” Chan says, laughing, and opens the packet with his fingers this time so that he doesn’t break the condom. 

Chan had initially planned on fucking Woojin standing up, just to see how long Woojin could go before he inevitably crumpled to the floor, but he thinks better of it when he returns to Woojin’s side and realizes there’s a much more exciting view they can both indulge in. Woojin’s eyes are barely open as he watches Chan drop to his knees, and then his face powers back up with interest as he tries to figure out what Chan intends on doing. 

“Thought I wasn’t allowed to take my hands off the mirror,” he murmurs, when Chan pulls Woojin down with him so that they’re both closer to the floor, Woojin landing in Chan’s lap and Chan’s erection slotting against his ass conveniently. 

“I changed my mind,” Chan says, cheerily, and Woojin narrows his eyes. 

“Somehow that’s not at all reassuring,” Woojin says. 

“Everything I do is to maximize your pleasure,” Chan says, and reiterates his point by stroking Woojin a few times, satisfied when Woojin consequently arches his back and drops his mouth open in a silent scream. “Don’t you know that?” 

“Debatable,” Woojin says, once he catches his breath again, voice rough as sandpaper. “Most of your behavior is driven by your sadistic tendencies.” 

Chan kisses the back of Woojin’s neck where the top of Woojin’s spine begins. “My character has been slandered by your harsh words.” 

“Hardly,” Woojin says, but doesn’t get to say much else when Chan pulls Woojin’s face towards him so that he can momentarily suck Woojin’s swollen, pink lip in between his teeth and tongue. 

Hooking his arms around Woojin’s thighs and behind his knees, Chan lifts Woojin’s ass off of his lap entirely, teasing at Woojin’s entrance with the head of his own cock and smearing bodily fluid with whatever’s left of the strawberry lube on the undersides of Woojin’s balls and thighs. He’s managed to stretch Woojin’s ass out enough that it would be easy to just slide in, but between the two of them, Chan is the one with self-discipline made of steel, and there’s nothing he won’t do to turn Woojin into a mess of tears and snot and spit, begging for Chan to fill him up and make him feel whole from the outside in. 

“Hurry. Up,” Woojin says. He’s restless and irritated, hands propped back on the hard muscle of Chan’s quads, legs forced to stay spread because of how Chan is holding him. The exertion of Chan’s teasing has left a thin sheen of sweat all over his body. 

“So close, yet so far,” Chan says, ~accidentally~ letting his dick brush against Woojin’s asshole, and Woojin exhales harshly before cursing. “I have to lift your legs up using both of my hands, so why don’t you help me by sitting down on your throne yourself?” 

“You’re literally the _ worst, _” Woojin says, but he relents and grips at the base of Chan’s cock before he lowers himself shakily onto it, hissing loudly at the stretch when Chan helps him the rest of the way and thrusts upward until their bodies are flush against each other. This position gives Chan most of the leverage, since Woojin’s feet are up in the air and his arms are already starting to give out, and Chan is unforgiving in the way he fucks Woojin with his cock, leaving no breathing room or physical capacity for Woojin to escape even if he wants to. All the pent up energy and dissatisfaction from earlier unveils itself in the harshness of his thrusts, and Chan just blinks contentedly as he watches the reflection of where he and Woojin are connected. 

“Fuck, Chan.” Woojin gasps high pitched and needy noises that sound almost bizarre coming from a boy who can break bones without any hesitation, and his neglected cock bounces against his stomach and leaves a shiny trail of pre-cum in the arc of its path. 

He’s not looking at the mirror, though, and that defeats the whole purpose of Chan fucking him here, wretched and wide open for display. 

“You’re so pretty like this,” Chan says. Woojin’s entire chest is blushing, probably because his face refuses to, and Chan drags his palm across the borders of where the flush reaches before he thumbs at Woojin’s nipple as a finishing touch. “Look at yourself in the mirror.” 

“I don’t _ want _ to,” Woojin says, shuddering at the prospect despite his stubborn mouth, and Chan bites at the nape of his neck to make Woojin open his eyes. 

“I didn’t ask you whether you wanted to,” Chan says. “I’m telling you to.” 

“Chan, please,” Woojin says, inhaling deeply as his eyelids flutter, like they’re unable to decide between flying open or squeezing shut. “I can’t.” 

“Why else would I move you here? Certainly not so that you can close your eyes and ignore your own reflection,” Chan says, voice darkening. “Are you going to look at the way I fill you up or not?” 

When Woojin opens his eyes, he lets out a strangled noise at the sight of his own body getting stretched wide open by Chan’s cock, moaning high and desperate when Chan resumes a faster pace. He reaches his arm back to reach for Chan, grabbing onto Chan’s shoulder for some semblance of stability. The thinness of his nails makes it likely that Chan will have slightly bloody crescents in his skin later, but whatever price Chan has to pay is worth paying if it means he gets total command over Woojin’s body, gets to watch Woojin try to keep it together even as he’s being obliterated in front of his own eyes. 

“I’m going to come like this,” Woojin whines helplessly. “I’m—”

“Not allowed,” Chan says, letting one of Woojin’s legs go so that he can grip the base of Woojin’s cock to stall his orgasm. Woojin is close to crying, and Chan gives him a kiss on the top of his hair in apology but doesn’t loosen the ring of fingers he has on Woojin. “Keep your eyes open and look in the mirror.” 

“_Chan_.” Woojin’s spirit is broken and stretched paper thin, but he obediently forces his eyes to stay open. “Please.” 

“I’m going to move my hand, and you’re going to hold yourself so you don’t come,” Chan says sweetly. “Understood?” 

“Yeah,” Woojin says, and he bites his lip in frustration as their hands swap places, Chan’s hand now free to hold Woojin’s leg up again. “Chan…” 

"You’re awfully selfish,” Chan says, running his tongue over the cartilage of Woojin’s ear and biting down lightly. “Always waiting for me to give you what you need, but what about what I want?”

“What do you want, Chan?” Woojin whimpers. “To torture me?” 

“I want to destroy you,” Chan growls into Woojin’s ear, and Woojin lets out an agonizing sob in the face of such an animalistic outburst. Chan’s vision goes empty and blood red all at once, aggression at the core of him bubbling out like a dormant volcano spewing lava onto unsuspecting citizens, ash suffocating the atmosphere and hellish magma flowing into ocean waters. “You’re _ mine, _Woojin. Mine, mine, mine—” 

“Fuck,” Woojin spits through clenched teeth, the frequency of his moans matching the pace of Chan’s increasingly brutal thrusts. “Yea, all yours, Chan—”

Chan’s mind descends into complete, red-hot madness as he plunges as deep as he can into Woojin’s heat, focus zeroing in on the way Woojin tightens around him and loses his voice to shallow, aborted breaths. It’s instinctual for Chan to press every part of his body even closer to Woojin, and he’s vaguely aware of his lips brushing against Woojin’s ear in the midst of processing how his body all but shatters at the newfound intensity of tension brought on by letting go without any reservations.

They come at nearly the same time, a split second difference between their releases before their orgasms are bleeding into each other’s, Woojin crying out in the most broken voice Chan has ever heard from him, come spurting with so much pressure that some of it lands on his chin and neck. In turn, Chan bites sharply into the back of Woojin’s neck to keep from making any noise, unintentionally puncturing skin as the inexplicable jealousy that’s plagued him for hours slowly seeps out of his body.

Contentment floods Chan in place of fury, settling deep in his bones after he pulls out and lets Woojin down, and Woojin exhales a quiet, strained sigh as he finally regains control over his legs and feet again, hard angles of his body softening into jelly against Chan. Despite this, Chan continues touching Woojin through the aftermath of his orgasm, repeatedly rubbing at the head of Woojin’s cock with the palm of his hand to chase a different kind of release. 

“That’s…” Woojin gasps, all senses on the brink of collapse as his thighs continue to shake. His chest rises and falls with alacrity, but that doesn’t help him find escape. “Stop, stop—I just—” 

“It’s okay,” Chan murmurs against Woojin’s hair, using his free hand to press on Woojin’s abdomen and prevent Woojin from wriggling away from him. He really, _ really _ loves the way Woojin simultaneously stiffens and settles back into him all at once, in acceptance of whatever Chan wants to do to him even though every nerve in his body is screaming for him to run. 

“It feels weird,” Woojin whines, breaths getting shorter and moans getting louder, more shrill, and Chan only rubs harder to egg Woojin on as he drags the puddle of come on Woojin’s stomach around with the index finger of his other hand. He adores the sound of Woojin begging for mercy, even more so when it’s laced with a hint of confusion as he succumbs to Chan’s rule over him. “Channie, please, _ please, please_—”

It’s only a few seconds before his whole body goes rigid again, except this time what comes out is a steady stream of clear fluid that jets out from the head of his still sensitive cock and soaks Woojin’s entire torso in an unconventional type of release.

“It worked,” Chan says, pleased. Squirting has only been something he’s seen mentioned in a few forum topics at best, and he hadn’t thought to try it until he saw Woojin totally fucked out and leaning against him, vulnerable and open to ambush from a predator with a voracious streak. 

“What are you doing?” Woojin asks, muscles tensing and murmuring yet more profanities under his breath as Chan tries the same technique a second time for confirmation. He holds the head of Woojin’s dick in between his palms, gradually building the friction up with the hand on top until Woojin is outright sobbing for Chan to let go of him, whimpers mixing in with his words sloppily until Chan can no longer differentiate where Woojin’s moans end and where his pleads for leniency begin. 

The trajectory of the clear fluid has it soaking Woojin’s torso all over again, getting on his chest, bicep and the floor, too. Compared to come, it’s a much thinner consistency and runs off of Woojin’s body, dripping onto the sides of Chan’s thighs. Chan peppers kisses all over Woojin’s face as Woojin gradually recovers from the successive attacks of overstimulation, choking on his own saliva as he hiccups a few times.

“You good?” Chan asks, leaning over him in concern once he’s removed the condom and disposed of it, and Woojin pushes him away by the jaw with a cranky palm.

“Do I—” Woojin’s throat is fucked, and he clears it in annoyance to regain what tone remains of his usual speaking voice. He’s still trembling, cheeks still shiny with half dried tears that were squeezed out of him from Chan’s bullying. “Do I _ look _ like I’m good to you?”

Chan chuckles. “I mean,” he starts, with a lewd grin, and Woojin’s eyes are already narrowed in preparation of the headache Chan is going to give him, “you _ do _ look good like this~” 

“Don’t come near me,” Woojin says. “Don’t talk to me either.” 

“Can I come _ on _ you?” Chan asks, laughing, and Woojin’s fingers ball into a fist before he deftly swings at Chan’s side. 

“One more innuendo and I’m never going to let you fuck me again,” Woojin says menacingly before covering his face in embarrassment. “God, I hate you.” 

_ I love you, though, _Chan thinks, and wonders if there’s ever a day where he’s going to be able to say that to Woojin without fearing the repercussions. 

“I’ll go get you a change of clothes, and a towel to clean you up,” he says to Woojin, who’s already closing his eyes. It is pretty late, and they can sleep as soon as Chan wipes himself and Woojin clean if Woojin is unwilling to take a shower. 

“I want your soft fleece sweatpants,” Woojin says. “The black Puma ones.” 

“Okay,” Chan agrees. “They’re in the dryer. I’ll be right back.” 

“Whatever,” Woojin says, like he doesn’t care one way or the other, but he’s pliant when Chan bends down to kiss him on the brow bone. 

✧❂✧❂✩

When they’re clean(er) and in bed, Woojin’s mood has improved significantly. It’s a common pattern: he gets irritable and sensitive right after coming, but starts to seek out affection once he’s feeling less like pudding and more like a human being with four limbs. 

He reaches out to pull lightly at one of Chan’s wavy curls, twirling it around his finger before letting it spring back with a cartoon-like _ boing_. 

“Your hair is getting long,” he says, which makes Chan look up from his phone. “Are you going to cut it?” 

Chan asks, “Do you want me to?” 

“It’s your hair,” Woojin says. Then: “I can cut it for you if you want.” 

“Oh?” Chan’s body shouldn’t react the way it does to the idea of Woojin holding a sharp blade to his head, but it shouldn’t surprise either of them at this point, how twisted his brain can be at times.

“That is,” Woojin says, and based on the annoyed look on his face, he definitely knows the reason why Chan is suddenly squirmy, “if you’re willing to take the risk of potentially getting murdered. Pervert.” 

_ With you, a hundred, a million times over, I’d take the risk. _

“Do you think you’d be capable of cutting my hair while we have sex?” Chan asks, and Woojin reaches over to cover Chan’s face with his large hands, realizing too late that Chan’s first reaction will always be to lick between his fingers. 

“I retract the hair cutting offer,” Woojin says, cleaning his wet hand on Chan’s t-shirt with a face of unadulterated disgust, “because you’re _ gross _ and _ shameless— _” 

“Aw c’mon, please don’t take it back,” Chan says. He leans in to hopefully kiss the irritation off of Woojin’s face, and wonders whether Woojin will forgive him when he realizes Chan’s gotten hard at something so mundane. 

**Author's Note:**

> WHEW
> 
> **ok hear me out this thing was a nightmare to write and i rewrote half of every scene at least once, so the least you could do is comment somETHING short and sweet (or smth horrendously long so i can scream in delight) **
> 
> **comments r loved. and wanted. and required; 2 pages in mla format and double spaced with 1 inch margins. bc i need validation, okay.**
> 
> kudos + bookmarks + twitter dms r good, too. :) let me know what you like about this 'verse or anything else you're interested in seeing me write abt! no guarantees but i will take genuine comments into consideration 
> 
> (also consider future! woochan from this verse being domestic and shit bc they've both grown into adults and have settled into private, cuddly, fluffy CHAOS as a couple) 
> 
> if ur interested, here r the songs i listened to while writing this: (artist - song)  
the score - the heat, money run low, legend, unstoppable, run like a rebel, born for this, higher  
fall out boy - the last of the real ones, phoenix, church, my songs know what you did in the dark (light em up)  
halsey - control, castles  
christopher - bad 
> 
> thanks so much for reading! hope this wasn't....bad... or too wild. :0 reassure my weak heart please

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] emerald is the wolf with three faces](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25038511) by [the24thkey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the24thkey/pseuds/the24thkey)


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